Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/211

 THE SHADOW PEOPLE

lame Bridget doesn't hear

Fairy music in the grass

When the gloaming's on the mere

And the shadow people pass:

Never hears their slow grey feet

Coming from the village street

Just beyond the parson's wall,

Where the clover globes are sweet

And the mushroom's parasol

Opens in the moonlit rain.

Every night I hear them call

From their long and merry train.

Old lame Bridget says to me,

"It is just your fancy, child."